"How many times have I told you not to go outside?" He yelled as he kicked her again.
"I'm sorry!" She croaked in a weak, yet sincere apology.
"No one wants to see your ugly face! How many times have I told you that?" He answered as he stomped on her hand.
Screaming in pain, she again rollod away, but found that her laft ankle was caught under a latge boot.
"I'm sick and tired of your insubordination of my rules! Next time you disobey me, I'll throw you out of the house!
With that said, he stomped as hard as he could on her delicate ankle. He stood back and grinned, crossing his arme in front of him as he watched his sister scream in pain. He turned and left the room, locking the door with the expensive lock and key. The pain in her body was unbearable. She could only lay on the floor, her aching body curled into a trembling ball, waiting for the streaks of pain to stop running through her body. She colud hear him stomping down the hallway in his rage. She tried to blink back her tears as she silently scolded herself for leaving her room. What had she been thinking? She knew that her brother hated her, much less having her anywhere near him. Ever since their parents died, her brother hadn't been the same. She was usually the subject of his violent temper, and she had the bruises to prove it. She closed her eyes and rembered the last time she had been outside.
She had been nine years old, standing next to her parent's gravesite. She was too young to understand what was happening at the time, but now, at the age of nineteen, she knew fully well what had happened. Her brother had been twenty-two at the time, fully able to take over the large, secluded mansion. He had fired all of the old butler's and maids and hired new ones, promising them trouble if any one of them told the outside world what he did with his sister. For ten years she was confined to the house, not allowed to leave her hoom, unless her brother deemed otherwise. She couldn't run away because the mansion was high in the mountains, far away from the nearest town. The room where she spent her days was almost unlivable. Inside the room was her small twin bed, a chest of drawers with one drawer missing, a cracked mirror, a clock in rather god condtion, and a tiny bathroom with a single bar of soap, toothbrush and toothpaste. Her brother didn't allow her a hairbursh, so every day she tried as best she could to comb the snarls out of her hair with her fingers. She was always thankful that she had her bathtub, even though her brother had turned off the hot water in her room. The bathtub was the only place where she could do any laundry. She did have a window that led to a balcony, but she was required to keep the curtians closed at all times. Even though she greatly feared her brother, she couldn't resist climbing out of her window at night just to see the countless stars far above her head and feel the night wind on her face. She could only sit on her balcony for a few minutes for fear of someone seeing her, but she cherished the moments that she did get.
She was snapped out of her thoughts as a shot of pain ran through her body. She gingerly raised herself off the floor on her one good foot. Cradeling her injured hand to her aching stomach, she slowly made her way to her chest of drawers. Upon reaching it, she opened the bottom drawer where she kept all of her makeshift 'bandages'. They could hardly be called bandages when in reality they were her bedsheet that she had ripped into long, uneven strips. She plucked out the longest strip she could find, sat down on her floor, and began wrapping up her injured foot, which wasn't an easy task since she only had one hand to do it with. She silently cursed herself for not wearing her shoes. She thought that she could go unoticed if she didn't wear her shoes that always squeaked on the floor tiles. She wrapped her foot up as tightly as she could manage, then turned her attention to her hand that had turned an angry purple color. As she wraped her hand up, she tried to straighten her fingers, which caused pain to shoot through her arm. Broken. She hated that word. It only caused trouble for her. Her right hand was broken and unfortionally for her, she was right handed. She closed the drawed and crawled to her bed. Although the sun had only begun to set, she knew that she must try to get some sleep. Sleep was her only excape from pain. She crawled beneath her thin blanket and rested her head on the single pillow. She held her broken hand in her good hand and hoped that she wouldn't roll in her sleep. After a few minutes combined with tears, she was finally allowed to drift off into a semi-peaceful slumber.